Page 14 of Wedlock
My hands start trembling so hard I have to put down my pretty rose-patterned teacup before it shatters against the saucer, but Eleanor doesn’t seem to notice.
“He’s agreed to pass on the message that the birth was incredibly difficult and that we have the finest physicians in the landlooking after you, but you are suffering quite serious post-natal depression, and visitors are out of the question.”
“Depression?”
“Not an unrealistic diagnosis, surely?”
I look down at my baby, encased in his tiny Tigger onesie, purchased, as all his clothes have been, by Eleanor, as I consider the ramifications of her statement.
“I’ve been sad in the past, sure, angry with the world, felt trapped in my job and desperate, but no one who knows me would ever consider me prone to actual depression?”
“But to have been so unhappy in your human life that you chose to enter The Games…”
“Ah,” I shake my head and smile sadly, “you’ve thought of everything, haven’t you.”
“Falcon has, actually. He returned last night and gave clear instructions. You will eventually take your own life, sadly,” she says with finality as she meets my eyes. “Your family won’t have to worry about you any longer. In due course there will be a private funeral.”
“No big royal funeral?” I whisper.
“Something will occur along those lines too,” she says quietly, “but that will not be an event for outsiders to attend, and given the ah, nature of your death, will not likely be a large ceremony.”
“Outsiders,” I murmur, “of course, that’s all we humans ever are, isn’t it?”
“You could have changed that. You could have been so much more,” Eleanor says dispassionately as she pours herself another tea from the pot.
I stare at her, feeling sick to the stomach that my parents will get this message, but hoping against all hope, that they can seethrough the lie. Marianna would have told them that wasn’t the case, that the birth was relatively easy as far as first births go, even with twins.She’dtoldmethatherself.Ijusthopemy parentslistentoher,andnotJag.Ican’t bear the thought of the grief they’ll go through if they believe I’m suffering here and then get the message I’ve killed myself.
“Why not just say I’ve gone nuts and be done with it?” I frown. “Surely Falcon can divorce a mad woman?”
“No,” she shakes her head. “There can be no divorce. To tie up all the loose ends your marriage, your existence, must be given to memory. It will grieve them,” she says gently, “your family. But they’ll be safe. If they were to learn the truth and jeopardise my son’s title…”
“Yes,” I whisper. “I know.”
‘You’ll have them killed. And I’m starting to think you wouldn’t even blink. You’ll do anything, say anything, go to any lengths for your son, for his title.’
“And they’ll receive an annuity for life,” she goes on, unaware of my eyes narrowing as I consider her, my teeth clenching as I study her bland expression. “Far more money than they could ever have dreamt of. Your parents will be comfortable for the rest of their days,” she adds with a smile. “That’s something, surely?”
“It’s something,” I mutter, shaking my head and frowning as I lean forward to retrieve my cup, my mind racing. If Jag has a conversation with Adam he’ll learn the truth, and then perhaps, just perhaps, he’ll save me and I can be reunited with my baby girl, who I miss so much it hurts.
‘Or maybe he’ll be so gutted when he learns that our love was a lie that he’ll do something bizarrely vampirish, like rip my parents to shreds. I just don’t know.’
“When?” I ask, trying to seem calm as I help myself to a piece of fig slice.
“I imagine he’s already been, or will go shortly. We had the discussion a day or so ago. It simply slipped my mind.”
“No, when will I kill myself?”
“Oh, three years, no less,” she says hastily, “there’s no rush.”
‘No rush, huh? Then I have time to escape, you diabolical bitch.’
“You know, Eleanor,” I lean back in my seat and study her, “all this time I keep hearing that it’s the way, lore, law, whatever way you want to say it, to breastfeed vampire babies for three years. I thought I understood when I realised they needed blood and milk. I thought they maybe wouldn’t get all their teeth until then or be equipped to hunt and kill. But if a wetnurse can feed them, then surely there’s no need to be so adamant that it must be themotherwho feeds them. Is there some reason why you won’t just have me murdered right now?”
She moves slightly in her seat, obviously discomforted by my question, and I realise I’ve struck a nerve.
“Eleanor? Why must it be themotherwhobreastfeeds?”
“Honestly, Angelina,” she shrugs, trying to look nonchalant, but not succeeding, “if I were you, I’d accept that lore on face value and thank your lucky stars that Falcon accepts it too. Are you so keen to rush to an early grave?”
